


sweet cherry pie

by casandeans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food Play, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Light Angst, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Smut, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, like almost no angst but just a splash bc it's me writing it, lots of fluff, they're horny for each other your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casandeans/pseuds/casandeans
Summary: Dean's first Thanksgiving with Cas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	sweet cherry pie

The alarm clock went off at five-thirty in the morning, but Dean was already awake. Already in the kitchen, pacing. Coffee forgotten on the counter, cold when he does remember to take a sip. Everything had to be perfect today. It _had_ to be. Dean had a list of things to do that was ten miles long and he needed to start checking things off of it an hour ago, but he kept wearing a track in the floor as he circled the kitchen island, over and over. Panic had begun to settle in yesterday, after he got off the phone with Cas last night, but now it had spread to every part of his body until his brain was giving him nothing but flashing red exclamation points. Now was _not_ the time for freaking out about things he had to do when he hadn’t even started _doing_ them, but here he was. Trying to pull perfection out of thin air.

Today had to be perfect because it was Thanksgiving, and it had to be _especially_ perfect because it was his first time celebrating the holiday with Cas.

And yet all Dean had been able to think about, as he was lying awake late into the night, was the horror of burning a turkey. Or, no, worse— either not cooking it all the way through or setting it on fire in the oven. A whole number of things could go wrong. This was a holiday about food, sure, but it was also a holiday about math. Certain foods needed to be cooked in a certain order at certain times to ensure everything was fresh and made that day. And even though Dean had done Thanksgiving before— growing up, he had helped his mom until she suggested he take it over— and even though he had even made all the fixings in his small studio apartment with its tiny kitchen (which was a feat), and even though Dean owned his own bakery and had gotten pretty damn good at this… none of it would matter if a single thing went wrong today. If he even so much as put the pie in too late so that the turkey wasn’t done on time, he would be so embarrassed he would have to crawl in a hole and maybe change his identity.

A week ago, Cas had casually mentioned that he had never had a good Thanksgiving before, said it had always been filled with fighting and family drama and at least one person storming out of the house that he would have to talk back inside. As for Dean, Thanksgiving had always been his favorite holiday— definitely because of the food, which was an obvious win, but more because of the great memories that resurfaced with every whiff of sweet potatoes baking. His family had been more of an on-the-go dinner family, where stands would be propped in front of the TV or someone would eat standing up at the kitchen counter, but on Thanksgiving… it was the one day a year he, Mom, and Sam would sit around the formal dining table with the fancy silver and his parents’ wedding china to eat a meal. Dean had so many good times around that table, full of laughter and an air of gratefulness that seemed to blossom more on Thanksgiving than any other day. And for Cas to have not had any of that… Well, that damn sure had to change.

Dean looked down at his list, eyed the turkey in the oven, and went to get the cherries out for the pie when there was a knock on his apartment door. Who the hell was here at— he checked his watch— six am?

The door swung open… and _of course_ it was Cas. Standing in the hallway of the apartment building, Dunkin cups in both hands, looking like he was asleep on his feet.

“Good morning,” Dean said, shocked, because he didn’t know what else to say. Cas was almost six hours early— what the hell was he doing here?

Cas hummed in response, moving into the apartment, reaching up on his tiptoes to give Dean a quick kiss as he passed him. He headed in a straight beeline for the couch and immediately slumped down into the leather.

Dean followed him and perched on the coffee table so he could face him, gently taking the offered coffee from Cas’s hands. Cas gripped his own cup tightly, holding it up near his chin, hunched and eyes still half-closed, like he had just rolled out of bed. “Cas, man, you look like shit.”

Cas held up a hand, narrowed his eyes until they truly did look closed, and pointed to his cup. “No talk. Coffee.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but it was a fond gesture— his mom had always told him that he was the worst person to deal with in the morning, but Cas took the grumpiness to a whole new level. It was sort of endearing.

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on Cas’s knees, Dean carded his fingers through Cas’s hair, making his already wild hair that much more rumpled. “How’d you manage to order that coffee then, huh, if you’re not gonna talk?”

Cas made a gesture with his thumb and pinky held up to his ear. “App, dumbass.”

“Well, I hope the coffee does its job a little faster because I shudder to think you got all those fancy college degrees and your vocabulary bottoms out at ‘dumbass.’”

Cas glared at him again, in a way that Dean was all too familiar with because of his smart-ass mouth, but with how Cas’s head was tilted in response to Dean’s touch made it less menacing and more pouty. Dean couldn’t keep his smile from appearing, mostly because he could never really _not_ smile whenever he looked at Cas. Because this hostile (but not really) morning version of Cas was something Dean had become accustomed to. For the past several months, it had been the first sight he’d seen when he woke up, and even with Cas’s grumpiness and outspoken hatred of the world existing before 9am, it still knocked the breath out of Dean every time he realized that Cas was his upon waking and not just in a dream.

“Thank you for getting Dunkin,” Dean said, softer now, his fingers trailing along Cas’s face to cup the line of his jaw, swiping a thumb over his cheekbone as Cas closed his eyes and sighed in response. Dean took a sip of his coffee, and it was just like he preferred it— black, dark roast, with a splash of vanilla, not like the sickeningly sweet caramel monstrosities Cas favored. Dean moved forward, closed the gap between them, and kissed Cas— without warning, a little messy, tasting the sugar staining Cas’s lips. It was the little things that made Dean fall in love with Cas, over and over, like the simplicity of knowing his coffee order.

“Wha’s tha for?” Cas slurred, chasing Dean a few inches when he pulled away. Fuck, Dean still never got used to that. The breathless disbelief in Cas’s voice, the devotion that poured out of him like sun shining through stained glass.

“Just because.” And because Dean was running on basically no sleep, and because he was weak, he added, “I missed you last night.”

Cas chuckled, the sound traveling through Dean from where his hand rested against Cas’s neck. “It was _one_ night, Dean. And we talked on the phone for three hours. I thought Anna was gonna kill me for being away for so long.”

“She’s just jealous you ended up with this hot piece of ass and not her.”

Dean meant it in a teasing way, as a joke, but Cas’s mouth straightened, and his eyes held a challenging light that never failed to jump to Dean’s dick. “Oh, Dean, don’t kid yourself. Your ass has been mine since we met.” And _fuck_ if that didn’t make Dean want to jump his bones right here, right now.

He had to remind himself i _t was six in the morning_ and he had a checklist to focus on, but _damn_ it took him a minute to form words that weren’t immediately a desperate plea for him to be fucked senseless.

He cleared his throat, pulled himself a little bit away from Cas’s orbit so he wouldn’t do something stupid. Like forget he had a whole meal to make. _Focus, Winchester_. “So, uh—" _yikes, his mouth was dry_ “— what happened with the family? I thought you were supposed to stay in Jersey until this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I was, but... I wanted to be here,” Cas admitted, teeth working at his lower lip as he tilted his head away to try to hide his blush. “It was nice to see Gabe and Anna without involving the rest of the circus, and I know I was going to wait to head here until Dad had come for Thanksgiving, but I wanted to be here. Helping you.”

The wheels in Dean’s brain refused to work— not enough sleep or he couldn’t stop staring at Cas’s lips like some horny teenager. “Uh, helping me?”

Cas looked hesitant but hopeful. “Yeah. I thought I could help you make all the food for Thanksgiving. It doesn’t seem fair to you that you have to do all the work.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat, a faint stutter. Equal parts adoration, at the thought that Cas willingly woke up god knows what hour to drive back to the city just to help him, and equal parts of him sinking, knowing he was going to have to let Cas down easy. “Cas. Sweetheart. You’re a disaster in the kitchen.”

Cas furrowed his brows, nose scrunching in indignation, and even though it was meant to be a little angry, it just came off as cute. “But you like when I make breakfast— you said you really liked my scrambled eggs!”

It was really, really hard for Dean not to cave on the spot with Cas giving him those wide puppy eyes. “I _do_ really like your scrambled eggs and you _are_ good at cooking breakfast, but again. Cas, love, anyone can make scrambled eggs— it’s like the first thing children learn how to make. Thanksgiving dinner is a whole different ballgame. There’s a timetable, a bunch of things to do, and you have to get temperatures exactly right, _plus_ it’s a lot of juggling different dishes. This isn’t exactly something where there’s the kind of time to flip through recipe books or for me to give you a bunch of tutorials.”

Immediately Dean knew he’d fucked up, said exactly the wrong thing. Even before they were dating, when he and Cas were just friends, that had been Dean’s special talent— never thinking before speaking, never pausing before his words reached the air and hurt Cas. He had a tendency to hurt Cas.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, barely a breath, as he watched the wound swim through Cas’s eyes. Watched the dark clouds he caused swarm through Cas’s irises, overtaking the blue. Cas wouldn’t get mad, wouldn’t leave, because he knew Dean never meant it, but… Dean hated himself, hated that it was his fault that Cas’s lip quivered. His hand fell forward, landed on Cas’s knee. “Cas, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry.”

Cas nodded, but still refused to look at him. Dean felt like his heart was being squeezed by a hydraulic press. Dean’s hand hovered in midair as he tried to swallow down his desperation— always there, always the fear that the people he loved would realize he wasn’t worth loving and would leave him— he tried to swallow it down as he hooked his fingers around Cas’s chin so he would meet his gaze.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I’m so, _so_ sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you— it was mean, and you didn’t deserve that. I was being unfair.” He moved in closer, close enough that he could feel Cas’s breath on his cheek. “Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

Just like that, Cas’s face shifted, melted into a smug grin, and even through his guilt, Dean knew he’d just been played. God, he was such a sucker and Cas knew just how to play him. “Well,” Cas started, closing the gap between the two of them so that his lips ghosted over Dean’s, his voice so low it sent a thrill through Dean. “You could start by accepting my help in the kitchen, and then you can thank me for it later.”

Dean loathed himself when he couldn’t stop a moan from escaping; he wished he could bang his head on the countertop until he was unconscious because he shouldn’t be this turned on this early in the morning when he had shit to do… but _fuck_ , he wished he could ignore that damn checklist and not care at all when his mom, Sam, and Eileen came over and found no food. Ugh.

“Of course, Cas,” he whispered, smiling into a kiss. “I would be grateful for your help.”

“You _should_ be.”

“You’re a brat,” Dean said, but he was smiling, and so was Cas, tangling their fingers together as Dean helped haul him off the couch.

“Takes one to know one,” Cas sing-songed back, skipping lightly over to the kitchen, Dean trailing behind and trying to kick at the back of his knees just for being a cheeky little asshole. Cas knew him well though, knew how guilt liked to wrap itself around Dean’s heart, because he whirled around to tangle his fingers in Dean’s hair and pull him down for a kiss. Slow, sweet, Cas tasting like caramel. Tasting like something Dean could never figure out how to bake into a recipe, like what he had been searching for all his life.

Cas pulled back first, and Dean chased his touch, blindly following into the kitchen. Cas swiped the checklist off the counter, running his finger down the paper. He was talking out loud— and that was something Dean still couldn’t get over, that every little thing about Cas made his love grow. “Okay, so, turkey is in. Ellen and Bobby are bringing the sweet potatoes, Mary said she would be bringing a dessert, and Sam and Eileen are bringing some appetizers, so that just leaves the mashed potatoes, the corn, the green beans, the stuffing— oh wait, that’s in the turkey— uh, the gravy, the cranberry sauce… holy _shit_. You weren’t kidding. And you said you wanted to also make a pie? Overachiever, much?”

Dean dove in to plant a kiss on Cas’s cheek, winking at him as he plucked the list from his grasp. “I don’t hear you complaining about my enthusiasm when it’s applied in other situations.”

Cas’s face flushed, his tongue darting out to lick his lip as his eyes darkened. “Dean Winchester, don’t tempt me when now I know you weren’t kidding about how much has to be done.”

“Well, then we better hurry it up.” Dean slapped Cas’s ass as he slid past him, smirking at the way he jumped before slamming his hand down on the counter. Dean navigated the kitchen, pulling all sorts of ingredients out of the fridge: green beans ready to be snapped, corn on the cob, bag after bag of potatoes. Cas, used to being in the kitchen but also not getting in Dean’s way, started shucking the corn while Dean peeled potatoes. They settled into a rhythm, an easy routine they repeated every night when they made dinner, but Dean kept sneaking glances at Cas. On more than one occasion, Cas caught him staring— he would quickly move his gaze back to his task, smiling quietly to himself. Dean didn’t know when he’d gotten like this: when all he wanted was to be soft, to taste Cas’s smile for himself, to use his lips to speak his love when his words couldn’t.

“Hey,” Cas said, interrupting Dean’s train of thought. Dean turned to face him just to immediately get a handful of hairs from the corncobs dumped onto his head. Cas laughed, a bright and slightly manic sound, as Dean struggled to brush it all out of his hair— those damn strings were so slippery and kept getting tangled around his ear.

“Come here, you little shit,” Dean said, grabbing Cas by the back of his shirt as he tried to get away… but not fast enough. Dean shoved a bunch of potato peels down his shirt, Cas arching his back as they slipped against his skin. As soon as they dropped out of the end of his shirt to the floor, Cas sprung across the counter to grab his own handful. Dean’s eyes widened and he took off around the side of the island. “Cas, wait, no!”

“Come and take it like a man,” Cas yelled, chasing him, but smiling wildly all the while. He sprinted after Dean, and even though Dean was lightning quick, his laughter slowed him down enough for Cas to catch him around the middle and tackle him to the ground. Dean tried to squirm out from under his grip, but Cas was straddling his hips, knees pinning him in place. Cas slipped a hand under the hem of Dean’s shirt, pulling it over his abdomen just enough for Cas to rub the slimy peels on him. And then for good measure, Cas poked a finger in Dean’s belly button, knowing it pissed him off. What a little shit.

“Cas, you fucker!” He strained against Cas’s hold— how the hell was he this strong? For a doctoral student who spent most of his time buried in classics, he sure was making the best out of his trips to the gym.

“You love it,” Cas mused, bending forward so that he hovered mere centimeters from Dean— just enough that Dean couldn’t reach for a kiss if he tried… and boy did he try.

“You just put potato peels all over me!”

“You did it first!”

“You stuck your finger in my belly button!”

“Oh c’mon, like you didn’t deserve it for pulling that shit— I’m gonna smell like a potato field when your family gets here!”

Dean tried once again to reach Cas’s lips. Failed. “You’re lucky I love you.”

And there it was— Cas, blushing. “Uh huh. Because without me, you’d still be pacing the kitchen, worried about getting everything done.”

A little gasp escaped from Dean; even after knowing him for years and loving him for about just as long, he somehow continually forgot how thoroughly Cas knew him, inside and out. “I’m still worried about getting everything done.”

Cas grinned wryly. “Yeah, but you’re not wearing a path in the floor.”

“No, I’m just being pinned to the ground by my boyfriend instead of putting the veggies on to boil.”

“Well.” Cas paused, eyed Dean up and down slowly in a way that made heat start to pool deep in the pit of Dean’s stomach. “I’ll let you up to put the veggies in, and then… Then we’ll start to make pie and,” Cas wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, “ _have some dessert_.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, knocking his head back against the tile floor. His family was going to be here in five hours and Dean wouldn’t have Thanksgiving dinner ready for them because he was too preoccupied with being fucked by his boyfriend in the kitchen. Talk about unsanitary cooking conditions.

“That’s the general idea, yeah.” Cas’s grin tilted, teeth showing, and Dean wished he could abandon all responsibilities and shred the damn checklist because, _shit_ , he was already starting to get hard just from the anticipation.

Cas stood first and hauled Dean to his feet, chuckling when Dean practically ran to toss the vegetables in their separate pots to boil. Cas put out the mixing bowl as Dean took out the butter, eggs, flour, and sugar needed to make the dough for the crust. Dean was pretty fast at making pie crust in general, considering how pies were the specialty in his bakery, but he was aiming to set a whole new record. Cas stood on the other side of the island, resting his elbows against the granite as Dean sprinkled flour onto the countertop to roll out the dough.

There was only one second of warning hidden in the corner of Cas’s smirk. He swiped a handful of flour from off the counter and blew it across the kitchen. A white cloud exploded in Dean’s face, stopping him in his tracks. “I know you did _not_ just do that.”

Cas did nothing but laugh in response, coming around to Dean’s side of the island. Hands on either side of Dean’s body, back to chest. Warm breath on the back of his neck. Dean was packed with tension, almost shaking with the effort to restrain himself— from shifting in Cas’s arms, from not pushing his hips back to meet Cas. Want sat in his throat as Cas crowded in close, peppering kisses up his neck before running his tongue along his jawline.

Dean’s voice was strained. “Babe, you’re gonna kill me if you keep this up.”

“You better hurry up then.”

Dean shivered. Fuck, he was turned on. How did someone make pie again?

Finished with rolling out the dough, he pressed the crust into the pie pan, leaving enough off to the side for a top layer. Cas reached around him to open the can of cherry filling, pouring the contents into the bowl, waiting for Dean to add the sugar. Bordering on frantic, Dean mixed the ingredients and added the filling to the pie pan. Just after he laid the second crust on top, he turned to put the pie in the oven and was blocked by Cas’s frame.

“Dude, I gotta get this in the oven. You told me to hurry up—”

But the rest of the words died before they could reach the air. Cas was inches away, one hand moved to settle on Dean’s waist. He had dipped into the empty can, bright red filling coating his index finger. Bringing it up to Dean’s lips, he tapped lightly and ordered, “Suck.”

Dean did it without thought, without hesitation. His lips parted and he drew Cas’s finger into his mouth, puckering around the tip before sinking further down. His tongue swirled around the finger, cherry sweetness pooling in his mouth. Dean hollowed out his cheeks, slowly running the tip of his tongue along the underside of Cas’s finger. Cas moaned, a broken sound caught between Dean’s name and something indecipherable. In one quick motion, he withdrew his finger, Dean’s mouth coming off with a soft pop. Immediately Dean felt the loss, unable to stop the low whine that hissed between his teeth.

Fingers trailed down Dean’s sides, skimming lightly across Dean’s sweatpants: outer thighs, knees, calves, ankles. Dean risked a glance back, getting whiplash as Cas sunk his fingers into the soft skin of Dean’s hips, gripping with enough force to leave behind bruises as Cas spun him around to face him, and— _God_ , Dean had never seen anything more beautiful. Cas was on his knees on the kitchen floor, looking up at Dean through long, long lashes. Blue eyes blown wide, dark, spanning on endlessly like the sea. Angels carved themselves in his visage. Michelangelo wept at Cas’s creation, at how such divinity could never be replicated— not in sculpture, not in art, not in anything except for this living creature with a quick beating heart that leapt out when Dean reached to rest a hand on Cas’s neck. Cas was alive, in vivid colors too bright to look at or be contained in a New York City apartment, and Dean couldn’t believe it. This was who he got to love. This was who loved _him_. Maybe miracles really did happen.

Cas shifted, bent his head forward to take the waistband of Dean’s sweats between his teeth and pull. Dean’s cock jumped against his boxers, the fabric already damp. Peeling his hands from his hips, Cas hooked two fingers on the boxers and rolled them down slowly, dangerously slowly. The little clouds of breath streaming along Dean’s inner thigh was enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head. Cas was always so careful, so deliberate about this. Wanted to take his time. And even though the two of them had all the time in the world, because Dean knew that Cas was it _yes Cas was the one_ … Cas took pleasure in watching Dean beg for it, beg for him to move faster. He liked it, watching Dean fall apart. No one had ever been able to unravel him quite like Cas, so effortlessly and so thoroughly.

Cold air met Dean’s cock when it was released, hard enough to spring up almost fully. Cas looked desperate. Hungry. Without warning, Cas took Dean into his mouth, sinking down fully.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas, baby—”

A moan drew from Cas’s throat, the vibrations shaking Dean to his core as pleasure soaked his brain. Cas licked a stripe along the underside of Dean’s cock from base to tip, popping off just to plant a kiss to the head, light as a butterfly’s wing. Dean gasped as Cas latched on again, starting to bob his head up and down. Dean was high, he was covered in flour and ecstasy. The warm heat of Cas’s mouth was a cave he wanted to explore; he had to curl his fingers around the edge of the counter and dig to stop from outright fucking into Cas’s mouth. Gasps and half-strangled moans lingered in the air, mixed with the soft slam of Dean’s hips hitting the island and Cas slurping up the precome that seeped from Dean’s dick.

Cas sank back down fully, hollowing out his cheeks and humming. Shit, the _humming_. “Yes, baby, urghhhhh, yes, just like that. Just like, oh, _fuck_.” Teeth lightly grazed his cock as Cas drew back and Dean thought he might curl in on himself with just how good it all felt. How good Cas felt. How good he looked, on his knees in front of Dean, pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock and sweat trickling down from his hair. Dean curled his fingers into it, trying to remind himself not to pull too hard. He guided Cas back, one of Cas’s hands coming up to pump the lower half of his cock while the other tickled along his balls. Dean thought his knees were going to buckle and he was going to pass out right here, right in the middle of his goddamn kitchen.

As if reading his mind, Cas slowly raised his mouth off of Dean, his hands forcing Dean to stay in place when Dean groaned at the loss and tried to thrust forward. “Bedroom. _Now_.” The rough, low, wrecked sound of Cas’s voice sent another wave of heat through Dean. Enough that he stopped functioning when he pinpointed the moment Cas’s desire overwhelmed his patience— he grabbed the backs of Dean’s thighs and lifted him into his arms. Legs hooked around Cas’s waist, ankles hooking. When he kissed him, Dean could taste himself on Cas’s lips. Could still taste the lingering punch of cherries in the back of his throat.

Before booking it to the bedroom, Cas swiped the bag of sugar from the counter. Dean raised a brow but said nothing, instead biting down on his bottom lip when his cock jostled against Cas’s shirt as they moved. Every part of him was dying for attention and screaming in neglect. He needed to have Cas’s hands on him and touch him in return. Needed to feel Cas’s fingers slowly stretch him open. Needed to whisper Cas’s name until he was screaming it, until he said it so much it didn’t sound like it came from this earth. Needed to fuck himself on Cas’s cock, feel it splitting him open and filling him until he was crying and singing praises to a god he didn’t believe in. He wanted to lay himself at the altar of this religion, to confess his undying devotion to this beautiful, beautiful man.

Cas dropped Dean onto the bed, the backs of his knees hitting the end of the mattress. He raised himself on his elbows, drinking in the sight of Cas standing over him. “Come here,” he murmured, quietly, different from moments before in the kitchen. First flinging his pants and boxers across the room before dragging Dean’s shirt over his head, Cas kissed up Dean’s body, starting at the bones of his ankles and working his way up. The side of Dean’s knees where they creaked sometimes, even though he was only in his twenties. The inside of his thighs, the right and then the left. The curve of his hipbone. The skin right below his belly button (Dean caught the smirk as Cas blew a quick stream of air over his actual belly button). And then Cas sunk his hand into the bag of sugar, came back with a fistful. Sprinkled it lightly over Dean’s abdomen, and Dean shivered at the featherlight touch. Cas ran his tongue along the line of sugar, licking a stripe from Dean’s navel to his Adam’s apple. Before Dean could draw him up to his mouth, Cas returned his devotion of kissing along Dean’s body. Tracing the lines of his ribs. A moment, an open-mouthed kiss over where Dean’s heart was, pounding so wildly at the knowledge that _this was his he could have this for the rest of his life_. One nipple, which made Dean jerk against the mattress, and then the other. The place where his neck met his torso. The curve of his throat. Behind his ear, then the earlobe. His hairline. Forehead. Both cheeks. The tip of his nose. The strip of skin right above his top lip. And then, because Dean thought he would scream if he didn’t get it _right now_ , Cas licked inside Dean’s mouth.

No matter how many times they did this, no matter how many times he got to kiss his best friend… it never became less than extraordinary. New universes were created and collided and were reborn with the way their mouths perfectly fit together. Two puzzle pieces divinely designed to be the perfect match.

“Cas,” Dean muttered, desperately trying to remember how he was supposed to form words. “Cas, baby. Need you.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“ _Fuck me_.” Everything tumbled out of him. Everything in his brain was short-circuiting at the friction of Cas’s still fully clothed body against his entirely too naked one. “Cas, baby, need you to. Need you to fuck me. Fuck me, baby, _please_. Need you inside me.”

“So impatient,” Cas whispered, ghosting his lips along Dean’s jawline, watching how Dean was shaking apart with love and need and want. One more kiss to his lips, just enough for Dean to steal some of the sugar staining Cas’s bottom lip. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna make you so thankful.”

Dean barked out a laugh. Was this what it was about? Thanksgiving? “Thankful for you, always, Cas. Not just today.”

“I know.” Cas leaned back, tugging his shirt over his head. Dean reached out a hand to run across his skin, press a handprint against his heart. “But today is a day to be thankful. It’s a reminder. And I want you to remember how much I love you, and how thankful I am for you. I want you to remember it every time you sit down around the table with your family and feel how sore your ass is.”

Dean moaned, low and long, blindly fumbling for the button on Cas’s pants. “You gonna fuck me, baby? You gonna fuck me so good I’ll have to walk funny?”

“Only because I’m so thankful for you,” Cas said, cocky grin back in place as he wiggled out of his clothes. His cock bounced against his stomach and Dean wanted it— _God_ , he wanted it.

Cas snagged his pillow and shoved it under Dean’s hips, giving him the angle he wanted. Reaching over, he pulled lube and a condom from the bedside drawer. “Open it,” he instructed, tossing the bottle of lube to Dean, who smeared it into Cas’s palm after he rolled the condom on. Gently, so gently, Cas lifted him so the backs of Dean’s thighs rested right above Cas’s knees. Dean spread his legs wider, unconsciously, as a finger probed at Dean’s entrance before driving in.

“Oh, yes, Cas, _fuck_.” Dean was made of incoherent noises and thoughts, his mind blue screening when Cas pushed in a second digit. Scissoring the two, stretching Dean open— so carefully, so delicately, with Cas sucking a mark behind Dean’s ear the whole while. A third finger pushed past his hole and Dean bucked his hips as Cas’s middle finger curled. There is was. X marks the spot.

“That’s it, that’s it! Ohhhhhh, fuckkk, yes, babe, right there!” Cas pushed Dean’s knees further apart, hit his prostate again. “Yes! Yes, God, fuck _yes_. So good to me, baby, sooooo fucking, ahhhh—”

Cas’s fingers slipped out suddenly, the absence making something inside of Dean coil and snap. He hated that he was so needy, and a part of his brain yelled for him to stop, but Dean was so far past the point of begging. “Need you in me, Cas. Cas, _please_ , _Cas_ … _Move_ , damn it, I need you inside me. Need to feel your cock, babe. Fill me up, baby, please…”

Another low chuckle, another quick kiss to Dean’s lips. Cas shifted his hips higher, getting in the position. Dean felt the tip of Cas’s cock rest against Dean’s entrance, and Dean didn’t know if Cas was waiting for permission or was enjoying the tease, but Dean’s cock was already leaking and he thought he would start tearing his skin off if Cas wasn’t in him right this _second_. “Cas,” he started, voice breaking, whining with desperation, just as Cas speared inside him. Still slower, not all at once, waiting for Dean to adjust before he pushed in more and more and more—

Fully seated. And Cas still wasn’t moving. Dean squirmed, tried to rock his hips down to fuck himself on Cas’s cock, but Cas held him in place once again. Dean looked up, wanted to scream for him to move… Cas had on that shit-eating grin again. That goddamned cocky bastard. “Tell me what you need, Dean.”

“Need you. Need you _moving_.”

“Tell me what you want, Dean.”

“Want you. Want you moving, you asshole.”

“Watch your tone, babe,” Cas chided, but it was gentle, still smiling. “Tell me what you’re thankful for today, Dean.”

“Fuck you,” Dean gasped, an empty threat, because he held just about as much menace as a marshmallow when Dean wanted something and Cas held the winning card. “Thankful for you today. Thankful for you every day. Love you, Cas, I do, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dean.” Cas pulled out slightly, rocked forward ever so infinitesimally; Dean cried out, whimpered at the motion. “Aren’t you happy I came home early to help you in the kitchen?”

“So happy,” Dean forced out, grinding down as Cas started to move for real. “Happy you— ahhhhh, _fuckkk_ — happy you came to help me. Happy… auuhhhh, happy you came, Cas. For our first Thanksgiving.”

“First of many,” he whispered against Dean’s lips, moving in earnest now. A high-pitched, keening wail slipped out of Dean, echoed by his name being moaned from Cas’s mouth. “Ohhh, Dean… ah, fuck, baby, you’re so tight.”

“Fuck me like you want to. Fuck me, fuck me, babe!” Dean trailed a hand down his skin, placed his palm over the back of Cas’s hand until their fingers tangled. “I’m yours, Cas, I’m yours— oh _God_ , oh _fuck_! Fuck me like you mean it!”

Cas had shifted their positions slightly, changing the angle just enough that he nailed Dean’s prostate with each thrust. Cas’s hand slipped in Dean’s, both of their palms slick with sweat; Dean wanted to run his tongue along the sweat dripping from Cas’s hairline, taste him and drink him in and know it was because he was fucking Dean that he was like that, all sweaty and disheveled and beautiful…

“Dean, baby,” Cas panted, voice thin. “Fuck, you feel so good. Look… you look so good like this. Spread out for me.”

“I’m yours,” he repeated, stuck on the surge of euphoria swimming through him, each wave hitting with every thrust. “Cas, I’m yours. This is me— this is who I am, this is… Lain out for you, whatever you need. I’m yours. Baby, I’m yours.”

“Thankful for you.” Cas threw his head back, hand tightening in Dean’s, rhythm growing wilder and faster. More erratic, more uncontrolled. He was close, Dean knew. They both were. “So thankful… Thankful for you, Dean. My love, Dean, I—” He broke off with a cry, stilling inside Dean, mouth open and eyes lidded.

The shuddering gasp was the thing to send Dean over the edge. He was coming without ever touching himself. It was enough to watch Cas come apart above him, feel him pulsing inside him. The world whited out for a moment, static creeping in on the edges of Dean’s vision. Universe going supernova. Cas wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock as he came down from his own orgasm, pumping Dean slowly, milking him. When Dean’s senses returned, he sunk into the mattress, boneless. Cas slipped out of him, peeling off and tying up the condom before crawling up the bed to nestle his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.

They laid there for a minute, Dean running his hand up and down the length of Cas’s bicep. Just reveling in this, in the hazy atmosphere of lingering sex. God, he loved Cas _so much_. So much so that he wondered how his heart wasn’t in danger of bursting every second of every day.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Cas.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dean.”

He pressed a kiss to Cas’s forehead, his hair tickling his nose. “It’s not over, you know. We still have food to finish making and guests to entertain.”

“I know,” Cas said; Dean felt him smile against his skin. “Guess that means we’re gonna have to wait until after everyone leaves for a round two.”

Dean leaned back so he could meet Cas’s gaze. “Not that I’m complaining, but… we _just finished_ , and you’re already gearing up for another round?”

Cas’s mouth tilted into a sly smile. “Round two can easily just be me eating that cherry pie in bed. You’re replaceable, you know.”

“I’m wounded,” he mocked, ducking down to nuzzle his nose and Cas’s. “But I understand. It’s hard to compete with that.”

“Dean.” Cas, completely serious, like he didn’t understand that Dean was joking. “You’re hardly a match. You know you’re my cherry pie.”

“Are you quoting a Warrant song to me?”

“I have my moments,” Cas said, gummy smile in place. His arms tightened around Dean, throwing a leg on top of Dean. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

“For what?” Dean genuinely didn’t know what _this_ Cas was mentioning.

“For everything,” he responded, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “But for trying so hard and wanting everything to be perfect for today. For my first real Thanksgiving.”

Dean paused for a moment in tracing Cas’s arm, lightly giving him a squeeze. “For you, Cas, I’d do anything. You deserve nothing less than a perfect Thanksgiving, and a perfect Thursday, and perfect everything in between.”

Cas propped himself up on an elbow so he could find Dean’s mouth. This kiss was Dean’s favorite— sweet, slow, achingly tender, infused with all the possibility of the future. _Their_ future. “Every day _is_ perfect, Dean. It’s because of you. It’s because I have you.”

Dean felt his face heat up and tried to hide it in the crook of his elbow, only for Cas to pry his arm away so he could look at him. All Dean could muster was, “I’m what I am only because of you.”

Cas smiled, a brilliance of a thousand stadium lights, and Dean felt his heart tumble in love all over again. He was remade, made new under Cas’s love, every second.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dean.” Translated to: I love you.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Cas.” Cas didn’t need a translation to know Dean loved him right back. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! follow me on @casandeans on tumblr and stay tuned for more works (including a 15x20 fix-it and some longer works to be posted soon)!


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